


to last a lifetime

by harinezumi_kun



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-25
Updated: 2011-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-08 05:28:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/439654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harinezumi_kun/pseuds/harinezumi_kun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>they get into a fight, and maybe this is the last time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to last a lifetime

**Author's Note:**

> written for a donation to the arashi_on fundraiser from so many moons ago. the request was for angsty ohmiya based on piolo pascual's [one more time](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gqp0p8MqE4I&feature=related). i think i may have wandered away from the prompt just a tad, but i hope you still like it!  
> big thanks to gee for inspiring me when i got stuck, and for beta-ing when i finally finished :)

“Enough.” 

Nino’s voice is fuzzy through the phone line, through the alcohol clouding Ohno’s brain. 

“No more.”

“I said I was sorry,” Ohno whines, slurring the words together almost beyond recognition. “C’mon, just—”

The line goes dead with a jarring click.

*

At first, it’s just shock. It’s that dizzying, stomach-turning swoop like missing a step on the stairs.

“Enough,” Nino had said. “No more.”

Ohno’s still not really sure what that means. He doesn’t know what changes. They’re all milling around waiting for the photoshoot to start, and Nino hasn’t said anything about it, isn’t acting like anything is different. But something is. The distance between them feels tight, taut, ready to snap, charged with a sharper energy than usual. 

From the outside, everything seems the same, but as Ohno drifts towards Nino across the studio, Nino is already moving away. It seems unintentional at first, but when their eyes meet, Nino’s glance is a sharp warning: “Don’t.”

Ohno stops suddenly, as if he’s run up against a wall. He blinks, looks around, feels the stirrings of something deeper than shock, but shoves it away. It doesn’t matter—it was just a fight, things will be back to normal in a few days. 

“Ok, everyone look this way please!” the photographer calls.

The camera flashes with a machinegun-fire shutter snap, and Ohno lets himself be blinded.

*

Days pass, and then a week, and Ohno knows that things are far from back to normal.

They don’t touch, they barely speak—which isn’t all that unusual, but this is a different kind of silence. He feels deafened, constantly listening for something he can’t hear, and more people than usual are asking him if he’s paying attention.

The result is a kind of imbalance, an overbalance, leaning towards something that isn’t there, and Ohno finds himself stumbling into doorframes and table edges. He gets in trouble with the makeup girls for how many bruises they have to cover.

When it’s Jun he stumbles into, the younger man catches him with an open hand against his chest and a gentle murmur.

“Leader?” Jun asks softly. 

Ohno blinks up at him, rubbing absently at a recently banged elbow. “Hm?”

“Are you—” And Jun’s gaze flashes towards Nino, across the room horsing around with Sho. “—okay?”

Ohno glances in Nino’s direction and away again quickly. He gives a little shrug and a noncommittal grunt. Ohno can see the concern in Jun’s eyes, can see how desperately he wants to help, but Jun doesn’t ask and doesn’t push.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Jun says instead.

*

“It’s not _fine_ ,” Ohno hisses, refusing to release Nino’s arm when the other man tries to jerk it away. 

“We don’t have time for this,” Nino hisses back, standing stock still instead of trying to pull away again. He won’t look at Ohno.

And Nino is right: they only have five minutes before Shukudai filming starts, they are standing in the middle of the hallway, and it is only luck that it is empty. But Ohno can’t do this anymore; he can’t sit through another filming, another minute, another _second_ of—whatever it is they’re doing. Fighting. Not speaking. He can’t.

“Please,” Ohno says, low. “I’m sorry, I said I’m sorry, for everything—whatever I did—”

“It doesn’t count if you don’t know what you’re apologizing for,” Nino snaps, and seems to regret it almost immediately, pursing his lips shut on the words too late.

“Then tell me what it is, and I’ll—”

“That’s not how it works!” Nino bursts out, turning to Ohno at last. Their eyes meet and Nino jerks, like he wants to look away but can’t—like he’s stuck.

“I _am_ sorry,” Ohno says, taking a chance and stepping closer, “but I’m not psychic. Can’t you just—”

“No,” Nino says, stopping Ohno in his tracks. Nino pulls himself free, gently, reluctantly. “It’s not—this is never going to work out. It’s just not worth it anymore.”

Ohno stands there, staring, with all the air gone from his lungs. Nino walks away.

*

“What does that even mean?” Ohno wants to know. “Not worth it?”

He wasn’t expecting Aiba to sneak up on him, but now that the taller man effectively has Ohno pinned to him, back to chest, and has Ohno’s head tucked under his chin, Ohno figures now is as good a time as any for a talk.

“Well,” Aiba says carefully, leaning them both back against the mirrored wall of the studio. “This isn’t the first time this has happened. You guys fighting.”

Ohno gives a shrug and a grumble that Aiba properly interprets as “People fight. So what?”

“And,” Aiba continues, “it’s harder for us. People like us. Because even when something bad happens, or we’re sad, we have to keep it inside, for the audience, the cameras. And Nino already does that, you know? All on his own, I think he’s always done it. So it’s double hard for him. And it doesn’t seem like anything’s changing. See?”

Ohno tips his head to the side thoughtfully and Aiba’s head moves with him. “I said I was sorry,” Ohno points out.

Aiba shrugs, and this time it’s Ohno who follows the movement. “Then I guess you’ll have to wait.”

*

“Satoshi.”

Ohno stirs weakly. It’s bright, his head hurts, his mouth tastes awful, and his bed feels really uncomfortable for some reason.

“Five more minutes,” he groans, burying his head in the pillow. The sheets smell wrong, different, but not enough to fully wake him up.

“Satoshi,” someone says again, less patiently, and that’s when he realizes: it is not his mother’s voice he’s hearing, this is not his bed, these are not his sheets, and he has a violent hangover. He spent last night out drinking with Sho. This must be Sho’s couch, but Ohno can’t remember anything past the second round at the third bar they went to.

“Satoshi, we have to go to work,” Sho says, sliding an arm under Ohno’s shoulders and propping him upright—slowly—before pressing a cool glass of water into Ohno’s hand. Ohno drinks in careful sips.

“’M not going,” he says about halfway though the glass. “I’m quitting.”

Sho takes this in stride. “Uh-huh. Would you like to phone in your resignation, then?”

Sho offers Ohno his cellphone with the office number already on the screen. Ohno takes one look at it, imagines the hours of shouting and wheedling that would then ensue, and just groans into his cup. Sho snaps the phone shut matter-of-factly and takes the empty water glass once Ohno is finished, carrying it back to the kitchen.

When Sho returns to the living room, Ohno has his feet on the floor and his head in his hands, massaging his throbbing temples. He can’t see Sho, but he can hear him stop just in front of the couch and let out a slow sigh.

“No more binges,” Sho says eventually. To Ohno, it sounds like he has his arms crossed, and his eyebrows furrowed. “I know this is about whatever happened with you and Nino.”

Ohno glances up through his fingers guiltily. Sho’s expression softens, and he drops down next to Ohno on the couch.

“I won’t ask,” Sho reassures him. “But the thing is: if you’re not going to resolve it, you need to just…get over it.”

“I—” Ohno wants to say “I can’t”, but he knows that’s not it. “If I do,” he says instead, “then it really will be over.”

Sho, to his credit, looks like his heart is breaking a little. “Maybe that’s best.”

*

Ohno throws himself into his work and spends the rest of his time fishing or sleeping. He’s in trouble with make-up again, this time for his sun-browned skin, but he just asks for darker foundation. After a while Nino seems to catch on that something is different, and stops keeping his distance so much. It’s not as close as they used to be—side by side instead of joined at the hip—but it’s better.

Until one day, when Ohno forgets.

They’re doing an episode of Music Station, waiting around to shoot the little opening interview, and Ohno has drifted off into his own head space. It’s nice, normal, refreshingly so after such a long time of being on his guard. He’s not really thinking about anything, just staring around at the staff rushing by, Sho talking politely to the interviewer, Jun gazing critically at a fly-away hair on the top of Aiba’s head like he can’t decide whether he wants to smooth it down or not. 

So when Ohno’s eyes settle on Nino’s hand, hanging loose at his side, he does not hesitate to reach out for it. At first, Nino’s fingers curl around Ohno’s easily, instinctively, but then he goes suddenly very still and that’s when Ohno remembers with a jolt that this isn’t allowed anymore.

They look up at the same time and Ohno sees his own scared, hopeful expression reflected in Nino’s face, but before anything else can happen, the camera is rolling. Instead of letting go, Nino hangs on to Ohno’s hand and plays it up during the interview. They smirk like it’s all a big joke, and Nino makes sure to sit shoulder to shoulder with Ohno during the show itself and to get a hand on Ohno’s ass during the song performance.

It’s bizarre, really, how easy it is. Ohno can follow Nino’s signals just as easily as he ever could, making all the right jokes or spacey comments right on cue. He can see the other members eyeing them curiously, cautiously hopeful, but doesn’t dare return their gazes. He doesn’t want to share this quite yet, doesn’t want to break it.

Because despite how easy it is, he knows it isn’t real. This is a mask Nino has put on, and like porcelain it has all the appearance of happiness, but none of the warmth or softness that Ohno has missed. Has not realized how much he missed until he finds it so glaringly absent.

Ohno would call it luck or coincidence that they end up alone in the dressing room after everyone is done changing, but he knows his bandmates better than that. The evidence that they rushed out on purpose is lying on the coffee table in the form of Jun’s forgotten iPod on top of Sho’s unfinished newspaper. Aiba has left his sunglasses as well, but that’s par for the course.

“Do you think they’ll be coming back for these?” Nino muses. He stands at one end of the table with Ohno at the other and it feels like an infinite distance.

“Probably not,” Ohno says, reaching down for the iPod and wrapping the headphone cord back up carefully where it’s come loose. After a moment, Nino nods in agreement and grabs the newspaper, folds it up small and shoves it in his bag before picking up the sunglasses as well. He pushes the glasses up onto his head almost as an afterthought.

Again, they look up at the same moment, and their eyes meet, catch, hold. In the space of three slow breaths, Ohno feels everything he could say or ask well up in his chest, squeezing against his lungs and fighting its way into his throat only to get stuck there. He wants to speak, but it is so hard to muster the courage when the chance of rejection is so high. 

And, honestly, a small selfish part of him wants it to be Nino who breaks this silence. Nino’s face has that smooth, mask-like stillness to it, though there is something—something in his eyes, fluttering and wary.

“Shall we go?” Nino says eventually, not at all what Ohno was hoping for.

*

“He cries, sometimes,” Aiba says. He’s a little drunk, and a lot sleepy, which means he’s much more likely to say things he shouldn’t say. Ohno feels like this is probably one of those things, but lets Aiba continue.

“He never tells me why, but I know it’s about you.” Aiba shifts against Ohno’s shoulder, growing heavier and heavier as the steady rocking of the train pulls him further towards unconsciousness. “And he won’t talk to you, but he won’t let it go either. I just want you to be happy, Leader. Both of you.”

Aiba’s last words come as a barely audible sigh through his face mask. Ohno stays as still as he can to accommodate Aiba, listening to the rattle of the train over the tracks. It is dark outside of the train, so all he can see in the window is his own pale reflection staring back at him.

He looks at the circles under his eyes and thinks about the restless nights that put them there, thinks about this constant anxious feeling, a feeling like he’s found himself in a foreign city with no map and no translator. He thinks about the press conference he has tomorrow and tries to remember all he has been coached to say about the new drama, and he thinks about dance steps for the concert, and he thinks about Nino.

“Maybe that’s best,” Sho had said, and Ohno doesn’t realize he’s said the words aloud until Aiba makes a little questioning sound at his shoulder.

“Hm?” Aiba barely stirs, probably isn’t really even awake anymore. Ohno answers him anyway.

“To let go,” he says. “Both of us.”

*

“You’re going out?” Nino asks. The offhandedness in his voice is perfectly performed. If Ohno didn’t know Nino so well, he imagines he would be completely fooled.

“Yeah,” Ohno answers with an equal level of indifference. It shouldn’t—doesn’t—matter that Ohno’s got a date, because Nino has been seeing someone for a month. Still, Ohno can feel the eyes of the other three members against the back of his neck like little insect legs and he twitches minutely as he slings his bag over his shoulder.

“Well, have fun,” Nino chirps, flipping a page in his script. “Bring me back a souvenir.”

Ohno glances back at him from the door. “You want another restaurant ashtray?”

“Nah,” Nino grins. “Take her somewhere fancy and steal me some cutlery. Or wineglasses, I don’t have any nice stemware.”

“I’ll get you some for your birthday,” Jun interrupts, “Leader, please don’t steal any champagne glasses from _Papillon_ , they know I recommended you.”

“How about some fancy toilet paper from the bathroom?” Ohno compromises.

Nino gives a distracted thumbs-up, and Ohno leaves with a brief wave to the room at large. He is only about two yards down the hallway before there are hurried footsteps and a hand at his elbow. He is not especially surprised to find Jun standing there looking mildly exasperated. Sometimes Jun is careful and doesn’t push, but sometimes he gets right to the point.

“Is this how it’s going to be, then? You date other people and bring him pilfered toilet paper?”

“Yes?” Ohno ventures. “Is toilet paper not allowed either?”

“That’s not the point,” Jun deadpans, in the way that lets Ohno know that Jun knows that Ohno is just avoiding the question.

“Well,” Ohno tries again. “It’s not really that strange for us, is it?”

Jun sighs. “All things considered…no, I suppose it’s not.”

“It’s okay,” Ohno tells him, trying for a reassuring smile. “It’s better. Really.”

Jun still doesn’t look convinced, but he leaves it at that, pausing only to remind Ohno to start with the silverware farthest from the plate before heading back to the dressing room.

Ohno spends the evening trying very hard to pay attention to his date, whose name he keeps forgetting, but he finds himself constantly distracted by the fine silver forks and knives and the delicate champagne flutes. He doesn’t have a chance to steal any toilet paper from the restaurant, but he steals some from the love hotel later, which is better, because it still has the fancy little fold on the front shaped like a seashell.

*

“I changed my mind,” Ohno says. “I don’t want to do this any more.”

Two o’clock in the morning behind the big decorative bushes in front of Nino’s apartment complex is not the best time or place for this, but Ohno knows there will never be a better one. At first, Nino had just looked wary and irritable at being called in the middle of the night and dragged out into the cold, but at Ohno’s words he freezes, looks almost scared.

“What are you talking about?” he snaps. He has his arms wrapped around himself, ostensibly to keep warm.

“Being broken up. Or whatever. I can’t—this—I want to be _with_ you.” Ohno gestures a little helplessly. It was sudden, the realization, but complete and overwhelming and not something that could wait till morning. He wants to tell Nino this, to tell him that even though being apart was the easier choice—except that it wasn’t easy at all—even so, Ohno can’t do it because no matter how hard he tries, he can’t _not_ love Nino, and want to be with him, and need him. 

“Oh-chan,” Nino sighs, and the breath comes out as an almost invisible cloud of white. “It’s too late for that.”

“Then, just,” Ohno says quickly when Nino looks like he’s going to leave, blurting out the first thing that comes to his mind, anything to keep Nino here just a little longer. “Just—one kiss? For, you know. Old time’s sake?”

“Oh-chan,” Nino says again, a warning in his voice now. “That’s not—”

“If it’s too late, it doesn’t matter right?” Ohno insists. “Just one last time?”

Nino’s eyes flash in the darkness, and Ohno thinks he might still just turn around and leave. They stare at each other for long moments—Nino caught up in his own internal debate, Ohno just staring at the way Nino is swallowed by his over-large coat and how he hasn’t done up the fastenings even though it’s so cold.

“Will you go away if I do?” Nino says finally.

Ohno nods, steps closer. “Yes.”

“Fine,” Nino says, keeping his arms crossed and his eyes open as Ohno leans in.

Ohno’s not really sure where he’s going with this, but it seemed important, and his heart fills his ribcage, shaking his bones, when their lips meet. He’s so nervous he barely feels it, wonders if this really is the last time.

But then, before Ohno has even properly pulled away, he feels a sharp exhale against his lips and then Nino’s hand is suddenly curled around the back of Ohno’s neck, pulling him in again. And the way Nino kisses him—fierce and thorough, like he is reacquainting himself with all of Ohno’s different tastes—gives everything away.

Eventually they have to part for air, but instead of letting Ohno leave, Nino wraps himself around the other man tightly enough to hurt. Ohno can hear the deep breath Nino takes, face buried in Ohno’s neck, can hear how it trembles.

“I hate you,” Nino says with feeling, muffled. “You can’t just do this, just come around when I’ve finally gotten back to being a normal functioning adult and tear it all down, you can’t say ‘just one kiss’ like it could ever be just one, and then leave, you can’t just _leave_ —” 

And here, Ohno realizes things are overlapping, circling, doesn’t know if Nino is talking about now, or the fight that Ohno barely remembers, but he holds Nino right back, as close as he can, bringing his arms around Nino inside the other man’s over-large coat. He doesn’t say anything because he’s so bad at saying the right thing, he just lets Nino continue detailing all the annoying things he hates about Ohno, the things that he has missed, all the reasons Ohno should stay, please, just stay.

“I always love you,” Nino says, brokenly, when he has mostly wound down. “Even when I’m mad at you, I always love you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Ohno says into Nino’s hair. “Me too.” And he trusts Nino to know he means all of it.

*

“Seriously, though,” Nino says, under the covers and wound around Ohno like a very affectionate octopus. “No more. Of this.”

Ohno rubs his nose against the top of Nino’s head, distracted for a moment. “Of what?”

“Leaving. Breaking up. If you’re staying, then you have to _stay_.”

Ohno thinks about this for a minute, sliding one hand up and down Nino’s spine under his worn out t-shirt. “What, you mean, like, forever?”

Nino doesn’t answer that. Ohno tries again.

“Nino. Forever?” He squirms down until they are face to face, foreheads pressed together. “For as long as we both shall live?”

Nino isn’t looking at Ohno, is just worrying his bottom lip fiercely, and for a moment his hold on Ohno tightens, almost suffocating. Then he meets Ohno’s eyes.

“Yes.”

Ohno’s breath gets caught in his throat—from this, after how close he came to losing it, if he hadn’t realized and come here, if Nino hadn’t come down, hadn’t kissed back, if they had both just kept on struggling for normalcy until the struggle became what was normal—but then he breathes out, in again, smiles.

“Yes,” Ohno agrees.


End file.
